Jack's Carol
by HuntressDaugher
Summary: Jack gets a rude awakening from old friends on Christmas Eve. Only rated for mild, brief suggestions.
1. Chapter 1

**Credit goes to Charles Dickens for his novella and also to Billy Joel for John the bartender and wanting Jack to sing. Oh, and my brain, which has a mind of its own (heh heh, Crutchy), for coming up with this while drying my hair. Other than my brain and hair, I don't own anything really. **

Jack placed his empty glass down on the dingy-looking counter and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. John, the owner of the pub and bartender, watched him closely.

"Say, Jack, if you still have enough sense, why don't you sing us a melody." He motioned towards the empty piano. "It is the season to be jolly."

Following his gesture, Jack scoffed. "Me, play." He laughed darkly. "No. And I'm not going to sing either."

John sighed, running a hand through his chocolate-colored hair. He had many customers like Jack, but something about him set Jack apart. "Jack, I'm not going to sell you another drink. Listen to me. Go home and shave—you need it. Have a nice dinner for once, then call your parents. It's Christmas Eve. I'm not going to let you get drunk tonight."

Jack looked into the bartender's face carefully and saw that he wasn't lying. He quickly felt his chin, realizing that if he did need to shave, or else people would think he was growing a beard. He fished around in his pocket. "How much?"

"Since its Christmas, I'll let it slide. Happy holidays."

Not questioning it, Jack pulled on his coat, wrapping it even tighter around him when he stepped outside. His flat wasn't far, and it didn't take him long to get there. Once inside, however, he soon forgot all John had told him. He poured himself a glass of brandy before getting ready for bed.

Jack had just closed his eyes when it seemed he was being shaken. He startled awake and looked around for the cause.

He almost screamed, but he clapped a hand over his mouth and stifled it. In the past, he'd had dreams like this. That was it. It was just another dream.

Standing over him was a heavy boy with thick glasses. Even though he had decided it was a dream, the boy was so life-like that Jack still couldn't help that his blood ran cold.

"What are you doing here, Piggy?" Jack clutched the covers to his chest as he sat up in bed, trying to control his breathing.

"Helping you. Tonight you're going to see your past, present, and future. Just a warning," Piggy said, getting up from the bed and walking toward the door. Just as he reached it, he turned around and looked back at Jack. "Your past has a way with catching up with you, eh Jack?"

With that, Piggy turned back around and walked straight through the door.

Jack, realizing that he was sweating, wiped at his forehead and tried to go back to sleep. No sooner had he done that, however, than he felt himself being shaken again.

"Wake up, Jack, wake up."

Jack opened one eye. As scared as he had been earlier, Jack couldn't help feel his heart beat faster. He hadn't heard that voice in almost nine years. He knew what his eyes were going to meet, but he couldn't bring himself to look into those eyes, to see the shock of black hair that had last been seen long and matted with blood.

"Jack!" Jack felt himself being thrown from the bed. He sat straight up and forced himself to look at Simon.

"What!" he spat, squaring his jaw.

"We haven't much time, Jack. We have to go." Simon pulled him up and tugged at his hand to move towards the window. "We have to go," he repeated.

"No! This is all just a dream!" Jack tried to get back in bed, but Simon pulled hard on his hand and he found himself flying out the window. Jack screamed, but the world was asleep and ignored his cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**These aren't very long. Just a forewarning. I don't own, and so on, and so forth. **

The feeling of flying was something Jack had never completely gotten over of; it was exhilaratingly terrifying, and not necessarily in the good way. London was unusually quiet and dark. There were few foot-passengers in the street. Jack knew the house where they stopped. It was his parents', the place where he'd grown up. Simon dropped them at the door, and, without a word, opened it and went inside.

The family room was illuminated by the candles his mother had lit, and a sugary smell filled the room. His five-year-old self was playing on one of his mother's prized Persian rugs, pushing a toy train around a track. Something caught his attention, and he looked to the door before getting up and padding across the carpet.

Simon took Jack's wrist, and they followed the younger boy. Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Merridew opened the oven. The smell that filled the house instantly doubled. Jack felt his mouth water.

"She always made the best sugar cookies," Jack told Simon. A grin appeared on Simon's face, and he nodded.

Mrs. Merridew, brushing a strand of her strawberry blond hair back, handed the little boy a cookie, receiving a toothy smile. She giggled and kissed her son's forehead. Little Jack ran from the room, and Mrs. Merridew went after him, her high heels clicking on the floor.

"You had a great mom," Simon told him.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. The lovely Margret Merridew. We were the storybook family. A successful husband, a pretty, doting wife, and their ideal son."

Simon, quiet as he had always been, only nodded. He snapped, and immediately chatter and laughter met their ears. Jack frowned and turned to Simon. Not waiting on him, Jack strode back into the living room.

It was one of the Merridews' Christmas parties. Sophisticated guests—ladies with French twists and pearls, and men in expensive suits—mingled about the room, glasses of champagne in hand.

Mrs. Merridew floated from group to group, charming as ever, champagne glass in hand. She laughed and talked easily with everyone there. Mr. Merridew was standing with a group of men by the fireplace.

Their son was a different story. He sat dejectedly at the foot of the stairs, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. While the rest of the party went on with smiles, Jack Merridew glowered at the world.

"Jack, dear," his mother sighed, stopping by, "I wished you'd socialize with us."

"No," he growled.

Mrs. Merridew stared him down for a moment before sighing and going back to the party.

To Simon, Jack said, "I was thirteen. It was the Christmas we got back from the island."

"I know," Simon agreed, again nodding. "How about this one?"

"Which one," Jack asked. Simon pulled him to the front door, but instead of stepping out onto the Merridew lawn, they were in town.

"Oh, mother of—" Jack muttered, running his hands through his hair and spiking it up. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Afraid not, Jack," Simon replied. Jack turned away, but Simon spun him back around. "Watch."

Jack led a blindfolded girl down the sidewalk. She held her free hand in front of her, the other interlocked with Jack's. The girl giggled. "Jack, where are we going?"

"Just wait," he answered, chuckling in response. He lifted her hand to his lips.

When they stopped, he untied her blindfold and slowly peeled it away. The corners of her lips twitched in a grin. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

"You said you'd always wanted to go ice skating. Well," Jack shrugged, "I pulled a few strings and got the rink."

Her mouth dropped, and her steely eyes became the size of saucers. She shook her head. "J–Jack," she stammered.

"C'mon!" He took her hand again, and they went for their skates.

They weren't the best, and fell often at first. As the two got the hang of it, they were able to skate freely across the ice. Towards the end, Jack twirled her around and pulled her in for a hug.

"I hope it's ok," he started, kissing the top of her brunette head. Her confused look made him continue. "I mean, I hope it's good enough for a present."

"Jack, it's more than good," she laughed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Jack leaned down to press their lips together. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, kissing her again. When they finally broke for air, he said, "You know, my parents aren't home either."

"Seventeen." Jack said. There was a distant look on his face. "I was seventeen that year."

"And," Simon pressed, but Jack didn't need it.

"Lydia. She was beautiful. Gosh, I loved her. So much. It was one of the best times of my life. I lost it with her."

Simon blushed. "I think we should go now."

"No," Jack protested. "Not yet."

"Jack—"

"Can't we go to tomorrow morning?"

Simon put a hand on his shoulder. "We have to go."

Jack casted a final forlorn look over his shoulder at his younger self as he walked away from the ice rink, hand in hand with Lydia, back to the empty Merridew house to an evening that currently haunted him.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm at a loss for a computer. I'm sorry. Hope everyone survives the end of the world! Come on, Mayans, right before Christmas? And, I know these are short, but, in my defense, the real story wasn't very long.**

"Wish you'd stop bringing me here," Jack grumbled as they once again entered the Merridew household.

"You need to see it," Simon insisted.

Mrs. Merridew placed a smoked ham on the mahogany dining room table. It was laden with other food, everything from corn to pudding. She took her seat at one end of the table, and Mr. Merridew fixed his own seat at the other end. There was a vacant seat on his right.

"It looks good, dear," he said after a moment. Mrs. Merridew forced a smile.

"Thank you," she replied. It was quiet again.

"Have you heard from Jack?"

Mr. Merridew searched his wife's expression before answering. "No, not since the last time."

"Oh." Mrs. Merridew's shoulders slumped.

"Let's leave." Jack turned away from the scene, and gratefully Simon granted his request.

0000

"Where are we?"

"You'll find out."

Jack scowled. He wished that Simon would give him a straight answer for once. Instead, they were in an unfamiliar apartment. It was small and somewhat shabby, but at the same time strangely cozy. There was a tree in the corner of the room, facing the couch. A radio was playing softly in the background.

John was stretched out on the couch, a blond lady resting against him.

"What's wrong, honey," she cooed, kissing his cheek.

"Nothing," John replied.

"Yes, there is. What are you thinking about?"

"Just…one of the guys that comes to the bar."

"What about him?" She kissed him again

"He's really just a kid. Can't be older than twenty-one. I don't know. I just—I feel bad for him."

_John feels bad for me_, Jack thought, a sinking feeling in his stomach. The woman just made a face.

"John, it doesn't matter. You aren't even related."

Simon saw Jack's pale face. "We can go."

0000

Jack took one look at the building and tried to walk away; Simon grabbed the back of his shirt before he got far.

"Simon, don't make me do this." Through the window, he could see a laughing girl moving about. He shook his head, feeling sick. "Please don't make me do this."

"It'll be good for you."

Inside, a familiar family was sitting down to Christmas dinner. Lydia was beside her aunt, who Jack had only met on one occasion, but who had been quite the entertainment. Her older brother and his wife were seated across from her, and her younger brother had a girl next to him, even though Jack remembered him to be a bit strange. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dinner was proceeding nicely until Lydia's sister-in-law asked a question.

"Dee, how about you; where's your beau?"

The room got quiet while they waited to hear her answer. Lydia looked down at her plate. She shook her head. "I don't—I don't have one."

"Well, why not," her sister-in-law pressed.

"I just…haven't found anyone that," she paused, looking out the window, "that compares."

"I don't want to see this." Jack said. He stalked out of the room, Simon following.

"Why," he called after him.

"Because." Jack rounded on him. "Because I know I screwed things up. With everyone. You don't have to remind me. Trust me, I know."

"Jack, do I have to spell it out?"

"Spell what out," he spat.

Simon heaved a sigh. "Maybe you could fix it? Hmm?"

Jack turned away, not wanting to face him.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I was working without a computer, and I knew if I published only the first part, I would never finish it. At least, I wouldn't finish it before Christmas. So I wrote it all together, and published it all at once.**

An unknown man checked his watch. As he was fixing his sleeve, the train chugged into the station. He took a step towards the newly arrived train, taking off his hat. That was when Lydia, brown hair pinned back and fresh in a tweed coat, stepped from the train.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't be back home for the holidays," he said. His arms outstretched, the man made his way to her and kissed her. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Hal," Lydia replied. Jack narrowed his eyes; her expression was…funny. And she'd made a brief face when he'd kissed her; if Jack had blinked, he would have missed it.

"Merry Christmas, Dia," the man, Hal, told her. He kissed her again. "You ok?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Traveling just…takes it out of you." Lydia shook her head, and Jack noticed that her wide smile was fake.

"She loves traveling. She's lying." Jack looked expectantly at Simon, who remained stony-faced. He was hurt, yet excited at the same time. Louder, he repeated, "She's lying."

"Listen, Lydia, I've thought about this a really long time, and I couldn't stand you being away for so long. I love you," he fished in his pocket, pulling out a small black box. "Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Lydia's eyes. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Nodding, she said, "Of course."

Hal grabbed Lydia's arm with one hand and her bag in the other, and they made their way out of the station.

Jack stood dumbfounded, speechless. "She doesn't love him. Lydia, _my_ Lydia, is–is going to marry him!" He glowered. "She doesn't even love him!"

Jack was practically spitting. "How can she do this? If she doesn't love him, she'll never be happy! She'll just make herself miserable!"

"Maybe she thinks it's better than being alone," Simon suggested.

"She can't do that." Simon and Jack locked gazes, and it was Jack who turned away first.

0000

Mrs. Merridew rubbed her wrists and put down her knitting. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and it was the only sound, other than the occasional rustle of Mr. Merridew turning the page of his newspaper.

The middle-aged lady sighed and returned to her knitting. Mr. Merridew didn't say a word.

"It's so quiet." Jack pointed out.

"It's two days before Christmas too," Simon noted.

"But, that's when they have their party. Always has been."

"Want to see a reason why these things happened," Simon asked.

"No," Jack answered truthfully. Simon didn't listen.

0000

"This is my apartment."

From the outside, the building looked as it always did. On the inside, however, it was dark and dirty. Beer bottles galore, a few vodkas, and whiskey bottles all littered the floor. In fact, you could hardly see it.

"It smells." Jack scrunched up his nose, but his eyes widened when he looked at the bed.

An older version of himself was stretched out on it. In one hand, he held a half-full bottle of whiskey. He hadn't shaved in days, and when his eyes fluttered open, they were bloodshot beyond imagine.

"Is that…is that _me_?" He shouted. Simon only nodded.

"It can't be. _It can't be_! I'm Jack Merridew. I was head boy. I was leader of the choir. I had perfect grades, and a nice family, and the perfect girl. This can't be me." Jack sank down on his haunches, covering his face with his hands. As much as he hated to admit, the tears did start falling from his eyes. "It can't be me. My life isn't supposed to be like this!"

A hand was placed on his shoulder. "It doesn't have to be."

The hand stayed for a moment, but then it was lifted. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

"It can't be," he insisted. "Simon, get me—"

Jack threw his head up, but there was no one there. His apartment looked like it usually did. It was small and not furnished to his liking, but it was relatively clean. There was no sot on his bead either.

"—out of here," he finished. The clock on his bedside table read that it was just past two in the morning. Jack sat his alarm clock to go off in four hours, and then he went make a phone call.

"Hello," came Mrs. Merridew's sleepy voice over the receiver.

"Hi, Mum," he managed to get out.

"Jack!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it's me. Listen, would it be ok if I came over tomorrow?"

"Of course, honey!"

"Thanks, Mum. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"I love you too, Jack." He could hear the tears in her voice.

0000

Jack left his parents' house after dinner. He'd told them that he'd probably be back in a few hours, and they'd been more than happy to have him stay over. He just had something else he needed to do.

The house was much scarier than he remembered, and for a moment he was tempted to turn back. But he took a deep breath, shoved his hands further into his pockets, went up the stairs, and knocked on the door.

It was a minute before there were footsteps on the other side. Then, laughing at someone inside, Lydia opened the door. When she faced Jack, her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped a little. They stood staring at each other, and Lydia breathed, "Jack."

"Hey, Lydie–a," he stuttered, not knowing if he had right to call her Lydie. He scraped the toe of his shoe across the stoop.

Lydia cast a glance over her shoulder before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind her. She rubbed her bare arms, and Jack noticed that she was shoeless. "So…why are you here?"

"I just…wanted to—you know," Jack suggested. Lydia gave him a sad smile, but she shook her head.

Jacked sighed. "Lydia, I—I messed up. We both know it. But I thought we were great together, and…I really loved you. I still do. At least, I'm almost certain I do." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So, can we, maybe, give it another go?" She raised her eyebrows, so Jack added, "Please?"

He and Lydia just held each other's gaze. Finally her shoulders stooped, and she shrugged. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

Jack started to grin, and when he did that, a huge smile—real—spread over her face. Lydia opened her arms, and Jack gathered her up. When they pulled away, she was crying, and Jack was glad that this time, even though he was still the cause of them, he could wipe away her tears.

"Merry Christmas," Jack laughed.

**The end. I really love **_**A Christmas Carol. **_**And Jack. Merry Christmas, everyone!**


End file.
